June 23rd 1895
by Spy'd R
Summary: Sherlock Holmes surprises John Watson more than once a day...


The very first sensation I had in the morning of June 23rd 1895, was warmth. Only seconds later, this was followed by movement, a strong draught of rather cool air, and the sound of my covers, shifting. The latter was very strange; at least I believed it to be so, for I, myself did not move. In my sleepy state, I was unable to grasp that there was someone else in my bed. With every instant I emerged from my dreams, and the drowsiness disappeared, I realised that I was not alone anymore. So I opened my eyes. Only few rays of light were able to conquer the solid, wooden blinds there were shut before my small window. There was yet enough light to see and recognise my intruder. Sherlock Holmes had entered my room, and eventually my bed. He was looking upon me, with the eyes of a man who regards a beautiful painting. His head rested upon his thin, right hand, his sharp eyes were half closed, and his narrow lips formed a languid smile.

"Good morning, my dear, dear Watson. I trust you slept well, since you did not hear me come in…"

"How long have you already been here?" I asked, somewhat irritated.

"Dear me, Watson, dear me! I seem to have quite miscalculated, in thinking that you had a pleasant night, given that you appear to think me undeserving of a "good morning"."

I sighed. "Good morning Holmes. Forgive my waspishness, but we do have an agreement, if you can remember."

My friend tutted annoyedly. "Of course I do remember. I presumed however, that granting you a little visit would be alright, for Mrs. Hudson has gone out, and will not return until lunchtime, going by the size of the baskets she took with her."

"I would still appreciate if you kept your promise not to visit me in the morning."

He sighed and rolled his eyes. He then cocked his head, like a curious bird; his eyes still set on me. I could not resist, and put a gentle hand on his cheek, whereupon he put his own hand on mine. As we lay there, I imagined how often he had longed to touch me like this, how hard it must have been for him to refrain from the desire to press a kiss upon my lips, or to watch me sleep; for a man who is used to getting most of what he desired. I can only tell all this from my own point of view. The time before we started our secret affair was one of the hardest times in my life; the time shortly after I realised that I had fallen in love with another was even worse. The day we first met, at St. Bartholomew's Hospital, I thought him quite queer. I did not know then, how right I was. When we confessed our love, Holmes felt the need to unveil another secret of his, which, he had declared, he had longed to tell ever since we became friends. That day, he told me, that he had always, only been interested in men, as long as he could think. Women, so he was convinced, had nothing more to offer than trivial problems and superstitious chatter. Anyway, I was not; before I met Sherlock Holmes. So you possibly can imagine the shock, when I first caught myself staring at his…back. As time went by, I gave up pretending not to love him, and confronted him with it. The joy and relief that I felt, when he agreed to be my lover, and that he even reciprocated my feelings, was almost unfathomable.

Unexpectedly, Holmes voice interrupted my memories. "Breakfast is ready in ten minutes, John."

When I came down to our living room, washed, dressed and freshly shaven, Holmes already awaited me. He sat by the table, arm crossed in front of his chest; eyes closed. It was no unusual view.

"Good morning again, Holmes!", cheered I to announce my presence. In reaction to my words, he opened one eye. He closed it again, and said, "Please, John. How often have I asked you to call me by my Christian name when we are alone. It is ridiculous."

"I'm sorry, Sherlock."

He nodded and opened his eyes fully this time. I sat down and started to inspect what food had been served for breakfast. Suddenly, something changed in my friend's manner. I could see from his eager face, that he was up to something.

"Oh, nothing." Was the reply when I asked. "I just want to make sure, that Mrs. Hudson is doing her work well. She is a woman of immense discipline and honour, but one can never know."

I raised an eyebrow, and continued my breakfast. After we had finished, Holmes suggested we should go out. I was quite averse to the idea, for it was very hot and oppressive outside. It was a very dry summer, and we had not had rain for two weeks. Holmes eventually managed to convince me, and we spent a wonderful, but hot afternoon in the city. We roamed through various shops, wrote a few telegrams, chatted and had coffee. We were just hunting for a carriage, when the rain started to fall. It had started so suddenly, and so heavily, that it was impossible for us to stay dry. There was no carriage around; not even other people on the street! Holmes, took my hands and started to laugh, as if he had just discovered the key to all of life's mysteries. I could not help but join. His sheer happiness, was the most beautiful thing to see.

When we finally got home, we were drenched by the downpour. The water was dripping from our faces, and from our clothes, but we did not care. We were filled with desire, and about to work on it in one of our bedrooms. As soon as the door fell into the lock behind us, we began to kiss each other. Ever more passionate we became; even to an extent that Holmes pressed me against the wall, with my back. The loud thump had aroused Mrs. Husdon, who appeared in the doorframe of her flat only moments later. "Good heavens, Mrs. Holmes! Dr. Watson! I heard a mighty sound, and had to look if were alright."  
We had been able to separate in time. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson. All is well. I think that Dr. Watson should be more careful when walking up the stairs in the future." He squinted at her, and I scowled at him. This little incident, did not keep us from our intention.

I have to admit, that I fell asleep after we had finished our business, without realising it. So I was very much surprised, when I was woken, once more by my sweet lover, Mr. Holmes.

"Watson, wake up! Quick man, you have to see this!" He poked me on the shoulder. With every word his pokes and his hissing became more intensive.

"No, Sherlock please. I wish to continue to sleep, unless it is some murderous business."

"Well, if you won't follow me liberally, I will make you come with me." Now Holmes did something I had never expected him to do: He picked me up, and carried me. I was wide awake, the very instant I realised what was happening with me. I protested very strongly, but to no avail. It was not hard for Holmes to carry me down the stairs and into our living room. Despite his slender, almost feeble shape, Holmes was one of the strongest men in London. Hadn't he been such successful a detective, he would have made a very comfortable life as a circus attraction, a builder or even a criminal. I was surprised how careful he let me to my feet again. I felt like a figure, made of porcelain.

"What is it you want to show me?"

"A great many things. One is happening directly in front of the window."

He guided me to a spot from which I could see nothing but rain. The downpour that had drenched us some hours before had ceased, and a new one had started, bringing a thunderstorm with it. Down on the street, everything was so distorted by the falling drops of water, that all I could make out was the blurred circle of light, which surrounded a streetlight.

"Holmes if this is a joke…" I was interrupted by lightning. It was so powerful, that it blinded us. Naturally, it was followed by an equally enormous thunder.

"I am very serious, John." Said Holmes, when the sky's mighty growl had ceased. Huddled in a blanket, we watched this beautiful, but just as fighting spectacle. Our fingers were entwined and our legs too, were knotted in some very peculiar way. We both felt the need to touch; not to get intimate- just to feel the other ones presence.

When the impressive phenomenon was over, and we stood up to retire to our rooms, Holmes grabbed me by the tip of my night dress.

"Wait, John, please. I am not finished yet." He put a hand into one of his dressing gown's pockets to produce a small, black box from it. Suddenly he fell to his knee and asked the words anyone wants to hear most in his entire life: "John Watson, do you want to marry me?"


End file.
